


north yankton snow

by vegas9000



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: A Lot of Gay, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, North Yankton Era, i just wanna proTECT TREVOR, they both need to man tf up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3396809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegas9000/pseuds/vegas9000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the last night that Michael Townley will ever have with Trevor Philips, and things go a little south before they pick up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	north yankton snow

**Author's Note:**

> ok so this is set in the north yankton era right and michaels death is already set up and the staged robbery and hes being distant bc of it and this is so gay
> 
> this is also my first fanfic im posting in the gta v fandom pls be nice to me im just a tiny puppy
> 
> thank u thank u
> 
> TUMBLR: sndyshrs.tumblr.com

** LUDENDORFF, NORTH YANKTON. 2004  **

 

   It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to play out this way.

 

   Maybe it was, and Michael was un-expecting of the true reality; leaving everything behind. The idea on its own is a prayer searching for miracle by guys already in too deep to be pulled out, so Michael somewhat considers himself to be a lucky guy by even having this opportunity. However, it's not as easy as people say. The life you put together like puzzle pieces is being taken apart and thrown back into the box where it'd be shoved to the back of the closet just to collect dust. Maybe it's also Michael's fault for letting things build up so easily that it'll be even more difficult to tear down, like he's the root of the tree, if he goes down the rest come with.

 

   Like Trevor. Man, Trevor's _definitely_ something. The human embodiment of Hell on Earth, fire on his skin and molten lava in his veins, he'll make everybody else bleed before he does. Michael Townley isn't exactly a saint compared to Trevor Philips but he might as well be. To Michael's knowledge, Trevor had abusive parents and grew up with more bolts and screws missing than in an entire tool kit itself, he knew that he always wanted to fly and if he got what he wanted then he would never touch ground. A woman in charge of psychological evaluation deemed him unfit for a life in the clouds. It's still something bittersweet to this day.

 

   Trevor was a man to be feared because he was capable of doing everything his creativity would brew up. Usually someone would sit there and think about murder casually without acting on it because some human beings actually have some mental stability, however, Trevor doesn't and it's a constant raging current in the small of his mind. The man will go out of his way to make sure that with anything he'll do, there'll be a sign he did it, like some sort of perverted possessiveness when it came to his victims. Michael figured that maybe the reason why Trevor leaves his trail is because he wants to go out with a bang when it's his time. Perhaps Trevor wants to leave his stain on the earth for a fear of being forgotten. Trevor could never handle being alone anyways but he found ways to try and cope with the aching loneliness.

 

   Michael knows it's always there, he doesn't have to be a therapist to see that nonetheless feel it.

 

   As easy as it was for Trevor to rip life from bodies, it never really was for Michael. Playing the game, you had to do things you didn't wanna and murdering somebody was a big part of it that Michael was not fond of. Eventually you'd get used to seeing blood and leaking brains, broken bones and ripped flesh. You get used to it real quick. So quick that sometimes Michael doesn't feel right without a blade or gun in his hand. It still bothers Michael on the flip-side if he thinks about it too much. The images seared in his mind have no plans on leaving and sometimes when he tries to pretend everything is alright, they rush right behind and take prisoners. When Michael started living as a criminal, pulling the trigger was easy, and perhaps building a family and having kids is where it went south. He loves his family, he does, they're the only thing he's got right now so seeing flesh and blood is different when it has traces of gunpowder from his own gun because that's somebody else's kid for fuck sakes. What if somebody shot Tracey or Jimmy? What if somebody slaughtered Amanda? Michael for sure as hell wouldn't be the same and maybe Trevor is right when he accuses him of being " _soft_ " because now there are reasons he has to stay alive.

 

   For the family.

 

   This is why he wants to get out of the game. There's alot to risk. Michael could've been more smart about this, though. There was betrayal written all over the fucking deal of giving up Trevor and Brad just so in the near future he and his family could be normal, and live happy if they tried. Michael knew what he was doing by handing Trevor and Brad over, not that he was any concerned about Brad but the worry about Trevor was there despite trying to shove it aside. There's no room for feeling guilty, there's no room for feelings to rise again. It's supposed to be a straightforward deal; Michael will surrender the two other men over to the FIB in exchange for protection being done through a staged robbery and death by Dave Norton. Once that's did and done, they'll be fine. Michael will live again and his family will be happy. Or so he hopes.

 

   There's so much more to that than Michael is willing to offer because goddamnit, as if attachment was something he could have avoided.

 

   Through all the running and chasing, killing and stealing, Michael's heart throbbed for Trevor fucking Philips more than it did for his wife but fuck life crisis' when he'll try to convince himself it's always been Amanda. But it hasn't and that's the messy part of this situation; there's a likeliness Trevor won't fall off the face of the earth afterwards and come back with a new taste for blood. Michael's blood. If there is anything that Trevor fears, it's rejection and abandonment. That is what Michael had been doing all this time. Rejecting the type of emotions he had for that fucking psychopath even when Trevor would (for once) touch Michael with some sort of gentleness as if he were made of glass. Trevor would actually love him, worship his body because he was never that spectacular with words. The only way Trevor was capable of expressing himself was showing and touching and spilling his guts. That was his vulnerability. Despite Trevor's tough ensemble, he'd take his walls down to anybody he trusted and they were pulled down alot for Michael.

 

   There were times where for the sake of making money stretch, they were forced to opt for a shitty motel room that barely had heat and Michael's poor fucking judgement had them sharing one bed to keep warm. In times like those, he couldn't pull himself away when Trevor wrapped his arms around his body and held Michael close. It felt so fucking real it was dangerous. Michael would then find himself attempting to squeeze closer with his head under Trevor's chin, hands grabbing at his jacket and their legs crossing with each other. Trevor would chuckle low and say something mocking but Michael was always too invested in the way it felt being so physically close to another body, the deep mumble of Trevor's voice soothing him. That's what scared Michael. He was terrified of the way he surrendered over to Trevor so easily and carelessly, and how Trevor was glad to put him down, but then Michael would freak out about it hours later because as far as he knew, Trevor was his best friend but the things he did with him questioned that.

 

   Michael was giving that up for what he thought was better for his future, the self-centred asswipe.

 

   Time was running thin, real thin, and it'd only be tomorrow until the staged robbery would go through. Michael was fully aware what was going to happen so he made a sore attempt to prepare himself for oncoming "death", which would no doubt ruin Trevor. The car ride to a nearby motel after a long drive from place to place was Trevor blasting his grunge-y punk music, often trying to spur conversation with Michael, but Michael wasn't able to respond back. Trevor was beginning to notice the distance expanding because once they got into the motel room a little past 1 AM, he'd made it clear that Michael was shitty at hiding.

 

   "What's got your panties in a bunch, pork chop?" The tone of Trevor's voice meant that he was oddly concerned, and a little irritated.

 

   "Nothing, mind your own damn business." Michael narrowed his eyes at the nickname he's been given and shifted further up the bed so that he could lean his back against the headboard. Trevor's face became more rigid and his voice rough.

 

   "Well, pardon me, cupcake, but I've been wondering why the fuck you've been so distant," Trevor started, "I know it when I see it and you're like a fucking child when it comes to hiding it, and I want to know why."

 

   Michael reached over to the side of the nightstand for the TV remote before turning it on and flipping through the channels. He was trying hard at this point to play this as smooth as possible, but it's always an argument with Trevor.

 

 

   "Can you stop fucking calling me 'pork chop' and 'cupcake'?" He heaved a scoff. "And I told you it's none of your business, but when it is, I'll make sure to call you, Trev."

 

   The anger and irritation was beginning to boil, Michael could see it in his body language and hear it in his voice. "Would you prefer ' _fatty_ '? Because 'pork chop' sounds much more domestic in public, _Mikey_ , wouldn't want strangers looking at us weird now, don't you?" There was more sarcasm and mock in that response that had Michael raising his voice.

 

   "What the fuck makes you think I'd act domestic in public with you?" Michael spit back at Trevor, and Trevor rose to his feet from his chair in an instant, almost knocking it over.

 

 

   "What makes me think that? You really wanna know, _Mikey_?" He shouted back. Michael walked right into this. "You wanna know what makes me think that? When you're opting to fucking _cuddle_ in motels with no fucking heat and sleeping all pretty with me! Huh?!"

 

   Trevor yells. The small ounce of hurt is there but it's all irritation and anger, he could never keep it away.

 

   " _Oh_ , and we can't forget the multiple times you fucking roll your ass on my cock, and beg for it!" Michael winces, Trevor takes a couple steps closer. "Put my dick in your face and you act like it's the last one you'll ever fucking taste! That's what makes me think of fucking domesticity, _Townley_ , when you toss your fucking pent up depression fused emotional and sexual needs on me! What do I do?! I fucking let you, and you eat it right up!"

 

   Michael gets to his feet too and makes a risky attempt to try and calm the psychopath down, taking cautious steps before Trevor bursts again and pokes his finger hard into Michael's chest.

 

   "You think Amanda loves you? Get her tit implants and surgeries to suck the fat off her fucking bones maybe then she'll try to give a fuck about you!"

 

   Michael's own seams burst unexpectedly when Trevor brings up Amanda, and he shouts right back in Trevor's face. "Don't you ever fucking talk about Amanda like that to me, you unhinged psychopath!" It doesn't change the angry look plastered on Trevor's face, in fact, he doesn't wince at all except dare to laugh.

 

   The amusement is gone as soon as it came. "Did I push a button there?! Does that get you riled up, Mikey?! Huh?!" The other man stomps towards the door and starts pulling his fur denim jacket on, digging for the keys, voice much more toned down but there's a rough growl to it, "Unfortunately, I give a fuck, best friend. If you think I'm the one in denial about what we are to eachother, then I think you should look in a fucking mirror long and hard."

 

   Those are the last toxic words that leave Trevor Philips' mouth and spit on Michael's shoes before he steps out of the room, slamming the door and cursing loudly at himself on the way to the vehicle. Trevor is un-fucking-believable, and he has no right, Michael thinks, no right to care.

 

   However, that hits him right up on the side of his head and in frustration, Michael simply plops down to the edge of the hard motel mattress, cradling his head in his hands briefly. Trevor was trying to help, was offering an ear to Michael without realizing what it would've been. If Trevor really wanted to, he could have easily took Michael apart and pull the truth right from his mouth, he would have been vulnerable enough to give it to him.

 

   This will be Michael's last night with Trevor, and he fights with him.

 

   Michael can't help but groan and curse under his breath. Whatever, if that's what Trevor wants, then so be it, it's not up to Michael. But... Trevor was just making an attempt to listen for once. He didn't have to wonder why and ask about it but he did because Trevor was concerned.

 

   "God fucking damnit," Michael sighs, "What the fuck am I doing," It doesn't take him alot of thinking and wallowing for Michael to realize what Trevor was getting at, and all of a sudden he feels guilty as fuck for it, so he gets up and grabs his jacket.

 

   Standing outside, Michael finds that Trevor isn't very far. He's only driven the car across the road and into the field right across the motel and gas station. At this distance, he can tell Trevor is sitting on the hood of the car, but what's he doing? Smoking meth? Drinking? Hurting himself? Any other fucked up unhealthy coping mechanism? It's not as cold out here as it usually is, the fluffy snow falling down earlier has set, and there's a soft sheet over everything. Michael can see his breath in puffs of clouds in the chilly North Yankton air as he heaves another dreadful sigh, beginning his small trek to the car in the field.

 

   Michael knows how easily he'll give in to Trevor's fits or words because evidently, he's always fucking right and he always comes crawling back like some abandoned lost puppy. Either that or Trevor's just trained him real good. Nonetheless, Michael's legs don't carry him to where he'd rather be, they would always take him to Trevor and follow his foot steps whether it be in puddles of blood, snow, or fire. It's terrifying to Michael how much he feels for Trevor that it's best to just run away and forget about it for the safety of being vulnerable, then there are times like these where he simply follows him, and it makes leaving hard. He wants to make this easy for Trevor.

 

   The snow crunches under Michael's boots and gets a few inches deeper the closer he gets to the car. Of course Trevor had to fucking park it right in the far middle. The moon and stars aren't clouded so they illuminate the field, bringing soft white light to the snow and it sparkles. Michael keeps a safe distance between him and Trevor should he still be angry, but from what he sees, no, he's not. Trevor is sitting on the hood of the car with a half empty beer bottle in his hand, one leg propped up and the other stretched outwards, his free hand holding himself up from behind. Atleast he's not smoking up a fucking storm out here and on some sort of depressing high. One thing that Michael notices about Trevor is he's humming something, some sort of song? He's not sure, but he's tapping his dirty fingers against the hood, and Michael dares to take a few more cautious steps. It's not until he's closer Trevor lifts his head up towards the sky, his deep brown eyes gazing into the atmosphere with a look of... fondness. It hurts to see that in his face because since forever, Trevor's wanted to be up on cloud nine and get away from the commotion. The only place he could truly be at home was up there, in a grade a plane or jet flying loops and jumping from them only to get back in and do it all over again.

 

   For as long as Michael could remember, whenever he stood outside with Trevor listening to him run on about something and a plane, jet even, flew by whole roaring, he'd stop talking all together and look straight up. Trevor was able to call it from just standing on the ground. He stared into the blue skies as if it were the last thing he was ever going to see, as if it were the only thing good to him, and if he got what he wanted, Michael wouldn't have even met him. They'd be somewhere else, maybe even happy. Yet had Trevor not been grounded for life, Michael would be a little depressed. Trevor's nothing like he's ever seen. Fuck, Michael doesn't know whether that's a good thing or not, everything's been known to be ambiguous with the Canadian.

 

   So... yeah. It does kinda hurt to see Trevor look so lovingly into the sky. Sometimes you gotta think that Trevor deserved to get what he wanted. After a good few minutes of Michael standing there like a fucking idiot staring at Trevor, he comes closer to the vehicle and hesitates to speak up.

 

   "Glad to see you're doing anything but taking speed and smoking up a methane storm." Michael's voice must have startled Trevor because he flips his head towards him, a surprised look on his face that fades to a sour glare.

 

   "Go fuck yourself, Townley." Honestly, he didn't know what else he was expecting to come out of Trevor's mouth. Michael rolls his eyes when Trevor turns his attention to his beer, and he climbs onto the hood (and it creaks because Michael's a fucking fatass) where Trevor reluctantly makes room.

 

   "Loosen the fuck up. I'm here to talk to you, T, not argue again." Trevor doesn't respond, doesn't look at him, but the stubborn rigid expression is still there.

 

   "Alright, well, I'll just go out with it and apologize, I guess..." Michael starts, looking down at his feet. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm a hypocritical judgemental asshole, I know that, but you know I care about you too. And frankly, alot more than my brain wants me to know. I'm just a fat washed up jock who can't get his head around the fact his highschool career didn't play out the way he planned, but still, that doesn't mean you're not something to me. You're right when you say Amanda doesn't love me, but we're trying for the sake of Tracey and Jimmy, they deserve something better than this."

 

   The words flow from Michael's mouth a little heavy, leaving behind a bitter taste. The more he talks, the more Trevor starts to really loosen up, and the tough look on his face eventually subsides.

 

  "You don't need to worry about anything, or me, for that matter. I'm fucking terrible at expressing myself, but you know me better than I do."

 

   Trevor idly swirls the beer in his bottle briefly before speaking up. "You forgot self-centred. But I accept your apology, pork chop, and unfortunately as your only friend, I do."

 

   For awhile, there's just silence, and the faint sound of a few cars passing by on the road, and Trevor's looking back up into the sky, his eyes set on the stars and moon. The atmosphere between them is lighter and easier to breathe in, however, Michael's forgotten the events about to play out tomorrow and it hits him hard. It's a squeeze of panic and sorrow collecting in his chest and fuck, does it ever hurt. It feels worse than it did before, and Michael finds himself scooting closer, needing some sort of purchase and Trevor gladly gives it to him.

 

   Trevor wraps his arm around Michael's shoulders to pull him in even closer, his eyes still glued up above, every detail on his face illuminated by the natural light.

 

   This will be a ghost coming to haunt him in the future.


End file.
